


Cucuy

by MothMeetsFlame



Series: Post-Hell Regression [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boogeyman - Freeform, Case Fic, Cute Dean, Gen, Happy Ending, Infantilism, Little!Dean, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Age Play, OnesieBAMF!Dean, Scared Dean, Scared Sam, Spooky, Uncle Bobby, caregiver!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-15 11:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothMeetsFlame/pseuds/MothMeetsFlame
Summary: He was getting better. He really was. But Dean's been having nightmares recently, and Sam's more than a little concerned. Even worse, Dean swears up and down that there's something in his closet, something lurking in the shadows with glowing red eyes.





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AndreaDTX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaDTX/gifts).



> Little!Dean is my favorite Dean. I just wanna snuggle the shit out of his cuddly ass. Because of my minor (read: major) obsession, I'm posting a sequel. Well... it may also have to do with something AndreaDTX had mentioned about Jensen Ackles in a onesie that may have morphed into an image of Jensen Ackles hunting monsters in a onesie, but that's neither here nor there. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> WARNINGS: Rated T for spookiness. Can I do that? Am I _supposed_ to do that? I'm doing that.

The nightmares have gotten worse. They’re almost as bad as when Dean first came back to him, screaming in the middle of the night while Sam tried to wake him through flailing limbs. This is worse somehow though.

"Dean?"

"Nooooo."

"Dean, baby."

"... _Papppaaaa_..."

Sam can't tell if it's a plea for help or a protest. Either way, the pain in the cry kills him.

"Come on, baby. Wake up. Papa's here."

He attempts another shake, but Dean's arm catches him in the side and knocks the wind out of him.

The light impact unsurprisingly has an effect on Dean, and the boy begins screaming. It's so much worse than anything else that Sam's heard come out of his brother's mouth. He remembers when they were hunting a ghost that infected Dean with an unhealthy dose of fear. He'd screamed a couple of times then, scared out of his mind. Sam wishes he didn’t know how terrified Dean would have to be to make the sounds he's making.

But he does, and he knows just how bad it is, so he resorts to something he hasn't don't since Dean was fresh out of Hell. He grabs him by the shoulders, digs his fingers in so that Dean can't shake him off, and shakes him. Hard.

Dean’s eyes open, terror making him panic until he sees who it is. "...Papa?"

Sam's smile is just as watery as Dean's. "Yeah, baby" he answers. “Papa's here.”

Dean's chin wobbles and before Sam can do anything about it, Dean’s up and out of bed, clinging to Sam like he's his lifeline. Sam wraps his arms tight around his very Little brother, even as his nose twitches.

"Come on, kiddo. Why don’t get you changed and then a story, huh?"

Dean nods into his shoulder, mouth too occupied with his thumb to form a verbal response. Sam carries Dean downstairs and gives him a quick change, not acknowledging how Dean’s cheeks go a little pink or the fact that it’s been months since he’s had an accident. Sam picks him up again, settles him easily on his hip, makes his way downstairs, does the bounce and sway while he heats up some milk for Dean to drink during storytime, anything to calm him down. Dean isn’t crying, but he’s shivering, and that’s almost as bad.

“Do you want to pick a book?”

Dean shakes his head and nestles it deeper into the crevasse between Sam’s neck and shoulder, thumb firmly between his lips even though Sam offers him a pacifier before they sit down.

Sam grabs a book off of the table and begins reading.

It’s an hour and a dozen books before Sam feels Dean go limp in his arms. Soft puffs of breath against his neck let him know that Dean’s safely tucked away in dreamland, but he finishes the book anyway, just in case. He settles Dean back in his crib, tucks the blanket securely around him since the heating and air have been a little off lately and it’s been much cooler at night than he would have liked, and he makes his way back to his own room, falling face-first into bed and passing out.

He wakes to Dean’s nightmares two more times that night, and by the time the sun peeks over the horizon, both of them have deep circles under their eyes, and neither of them want to go for another attempt at sleep.

Sam gives Dean his morning bath and makes cereal for breakfast, too tired to attempt anything more complex even though he’s usually adamant about making sure Dean eats healthily now that Sam’s in charge of his food intake. Dean only eats a few bites before he shakes his head, refusing anything Sam tries to put near his mouth. He sets Dean up with a coloring pad and some crayons instead, giving him a few hours to tidy up the house and pay the bills and make a grocery list and do a dozen other things he’s been putting off, including making his obligatory call to Bobby, just before lunch.

Sam offers his input on a couple of Hunting queries and catches Bobby up on all things Dean, including the recent bout of nightmares.

“I don’t know,” he tells Bobby. “He won’t tell me. It just keeps getting worse.”

“ _Could be a good thing. Could be his mind’s ready to face some o’ what happened to him in the pit._ ”

Sam sighs. “I don’t think that’s it. He’s just… terrified.”

“ _You remember that case a while back?_ ”

“Yeah,” Sam responds. “It’s worse that that.”

He hears Bobby cursing on the other end of the line, but Sam ignores him in favor of checking in on Dean, who is not-so-happily sitting on his playmat with a slew of building blocks around him, clinging tightly to his stuffed bunny and sucking on his thumb, coloring book long forgotten.

“He’s exhausted, Bobby,” Sam says. “And I am too. I don’t know how much more of this we can take. Dean needs to sleep.”

“ _You got that spare room set up?_ ” Bobby asks.

“Just finished it last week.”

“ _Good. You’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight if I can help it, at least_.”

Sam’s stunned for a moment before a small smile breaks out on his face. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Now go make the kid something to eat. He’s too damn thin.”

Sam chuckles, but he doesn’t argue. Though sleeping is high up on their list of troubles, getting Dean to eat more than a few bites of anything is tough, especially when he knows just how large Dean’s appetite used to be.

“Will do,” he says.

“ _See you tonight_.”

Sam hangs up and makes his way into the kitchen to prepare lunch. It’s nothing big—he’s too exhausted for that—but a couple of sandwiches and some fruit isn’t a bad spread for fifteen minutes of work. It’s not like Dean’s going to eat much of it anyway.

He’s just spreading mayo on a couple slices of bread when Dean makes his way into the kitchen. It’s another problem Dean’s been having, Sam moving out of his line of sight. It’s adorable in its own way, even if it worries him a bit. Anytime Sam’s on the move, Dean’s right there following him.

“Dean, baby, would you like a sandwich?”

Dean shakes his head as he settles on a stool at the counter.

“How about an apple?”

Dean nods.

Sam suppresses a sigh and slices an apple. Not sleeping, not eating, not speaking. There’s definitely something wrong with Dean, but Sam has no idea what it could be. Sure, Hell is the easiest explanation—there’s a reason for the onesie Dean’s wearing, after all—but he’s been steadily improving over the last six months only to take a swan dive off a metaphorical cliff this last week or so. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

“One apple for my favorite Dean,” Sam says, setting a plate of apple slices in front of his brother.

A ghost of a smile graces Dean’s lips for an instant. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

Sam ruffles Dean’s hair. “You’re welcome.”

They both eat in silence, Dean declining all other food after he finishes his apple. He waits for Sam to finish rinsing their dishes before following him into the living room.

“Ready for a nap, bud?” Sam asks. He doesn’t miss the shudder that crawls down Dean’s back.

Dean shakes his head.

“You need to get some sleep.”

Dean shakes his head again, a small pout forming, and Sam knows they’re straying into temper tantrum territory.

“Don’t start that,” Sam chastises. “You know the schedule. Lunch and then naptime.”

Sam turns around and walks up the stairs, heading straight into Dean’s bedroom, knowing full well that Dean will follow.

Sure enough, by the time he has the bars of the crib lowered for Dean to climb in, the boy in question is standing right behind him, thumb tucked securely in his mouth. Sam gives the bed a pat, and Dean crawls inside, settling easily into his spot even though Sam can see the fear in his eyes. Even if it’s only an hour, Dean needs the sleep, nightmare-addled or not.

Sam reaches onto the dresser for Dean’s pacifier and gently pulls the thumb from his mouth to slip it inside. Dean begins suckling immediately, hands free to wrap around his stuffed bunny. Sam really does need to give it a wash. He sighs. If only Dean weren’t so attached to the thing.

Sam kisses Dean on the forehead and clicks the bars back into place. “Sleep tight, Dean, baby. I’ll be right downstairs, okay?”

Dean doesn’t respond, but Sam didn’t expect him to.

He’s halfway down the hall when Dean speaks.

“Papa?” Dean calls.

Sam backtracks to the room. “Yeah, Dean?”

“I…” Dean looks away. “I think there’s something in my closet,” he whispers.

Sam smiles placatingly. “No there isn’t, bud.”

Dean glares. “Yea, there is.”

It’s been on and off like this for a few months, but Sam humors him anyway like he has at least a dozen times. “Why don’t we check?”

Sam reaches into the bottom drawer of Dean’s dresser and pulls out the small bag of salt and an iron rod that Dean was insistent on having. He quickly draws a line of salt across around the closet doorway before sliding it open. Other than clothes—pants on one side, shirts on the other—Dean’s closet is clear. Nothing supernatural. Sam even waves the iron around inside, just in case.

“Nothing here, baby,” Sam assures him.

“Under the bed,” Dean whispers. “It moves.”

Sam can see directly under Dean’s bed from where he’s standing, but he makes a show of it anyway, ducking down and waving the iron around, calling out any monsters that may be under his boy’s bed.

“Nope,” Sam says. “Not a thing in sight.”

“It’s there.” Dean’s adamant. “It has to be.”

“Dean, baby,” Sam reaches through the bars and strokes a hand through Dean’s hair. “Nothing is stupid enough to attack us here. The house is warded to high heaven. Even _people_ can’t get in unless they’re invited. I know you’re scared of the things in your nightmares, but the nightmares aren’t real. Not anymore. Okay?”

Dean nods, but Sam knows he’s not convinced.

“Have a good nap. I’ll be right downstairs.”

Sam closes the door and makes his way downstairs, more exhausted than he thought possible. Even when he and Dean were Hunters, they knew the value of a good night’s sleep. Sure, there were times when they’d been through the ringer only to come out the other side broken and bloody, but at least he always had sleep to look forward to. Now, even with Bobby there, he would probably only get a few hours.

When he reaches the kitchen, Sam pours himself another cup of coffee and opens his laptop. He spends a few minutes combing through his email and responding to a few Hunters who need help with their cases before he pulls up a document and begins writing. Naptime, though completely unnecessary for Dean, is on the schedule for a reason. Namely, to allow Sam some time to work in peace.

He’s about three quarters done with his article when the baby monitor whines and dies beside him. Sam saves his progress and shuts down the laptop, vowing to finish tonight after he puts Dean down, and fishes through the fridge for a new pair of batteries.

He finds an empty box instead.

Sam closes the fridge door and adds _batteries_ to his ever-expanding shopping list and sighs quietly. He’ll have to take a trip to the store this weekend if he can get Bobby to stay with Dean. Thinking of Dean, Sam checks the time on the stove and realizes that it’s about time to wake his boy from his nap.

Sam opens the door to a sorry sight.

Dean lies in his bed, sucking furiously on his thumb with silent tears streaking down his face, eyes open and staring blankly at the closet. Sam doubts he’s gotten any sleep. Dean doesn’t respond when Sam lifts him out of his crib, but it’s not like it was when he was stuck inside his head, so Sam tries not to worry too much about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *frowns at the glowing zero next to the word INBOX*


	2. Monsters in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to get a good night's sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaptahhhh twooooooo!! Woohoo!

The rest of the day is much more subdued. Dean’s too tired to play, and Sam’s too tired to encourage him, so they both end up cuddling on the couch for a few hours before Sam makes dinner, which Dean steadfastly refuses to eat. Bobby comes by not too long after dinner, tossing his bag in the corner before wrapping Dean up in a hug. He’s not strong enough to lift the boy like Sam is, but he’s otherwise surprisingly tactile when it comes to the tyke.

“How you doin’, bud?” Bobby asks.

Dean’s nonanswer is answer enough.

Bobby ruffles his hair and leaves him to play while he helps himself to dinner.

Putting Dean down is an arduous affair. The boy refuses to so much as budge, and he fights Sam tooth and nail when he carries him up the stairs. Sam doesn’t go immediately to Dean’s bedroom, though. Instead, he takes a detour and puts Dean on the toilet while he draws a warm bath. It’s not a part of their regular routine, but Sam figures that if it’ll help Dean settle, then it’s worth it.

He foregoes the bubble bath in favor of lavender oil and takes the time to wash Dean head to toe, soothing the tenseness in Dean’s muscles. His boy is a puddle of goo by the time Sam dries him off and dresses him, and he’s asleep on Sam’s shoulder before they even make it to the crib, for which Sam is eternally grateful. Sam tucks him in, safe and warm for the night, and makes his way downstairs, leaving the door open this time since the monitor is in dire need of batteries.

Bobby’s just finished eating dinner when Sam comes down and pulls out a chair next to him, dropping into it and resting his head against the table.

“That bad?”

“Definitely,” Sam replies. He lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and rubs a hand over his face.

“He looked to be gettin’ better, and now this. What happened?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t know, Bobby. We were doing just fine, and then all of a sudden, the nightmares are back. He won’t eat, won’t speak, won’t sleep. I don’t know what to do.”

“Just gotta keep takin’ care of him. He’ll get better.”

Sam nods to himself, willing the words to be true.

“Speakin’ of takin’ care o’ oneself. You gotta get to bed, boy. You been goin and goin since Dean was back from the pit, and I know you ain’t been sleepin’ as much as you should.”

“I’m fine, Bobby. Really.”

“Fine, my ass. You’re worse than Dean. Go on to bed. I don’t wanna see you down here before morning.”

Sam takes in the stubborn set to his jaw and decides not to argue. It’s not as if he really wants to anyway, so he does as he’s told. “Thanks, Bobby,” he says.

Bobby grunts his response.

Sam’s feet drag as he makes his way upstairs. He brushes his teeth quickly but thoroughly and chucks his clothes in the hamper, slipping into a pair of pajama bottoms before sliding under the covers. It's the cheapest mattress he could find under the circumstances, but it's the softest thing he thinks he’s ever felt as sleep pulls him under.

Sam wakes to the sound of soft footsteps in the hall. A quick glance at the clock shows that he's been asleep for less than an hour—definitely not long enough in his book—but beggars can't be choosers, and a wink of sleep is better than none.

His first thought is that Bobby must be checking in on Dean, but he can hear the old man snoring on the couch downstairs, and Dean’s usually much noisier when he wakes up, crying and screaming for him, so he's sure it's not Dean.

Sam’s out of bed, knife in hand, at the sound of Dean’s door opening. He sleuths across the hall, careful to keep his footfalls silent. He cracks Dean’s door open just enough to peek inside, and his breath catches in his throat.

It's dark, but there's enough light to catch the shadow of a man looming over Dean’s crib. Sam’s heart stops for a moment, hoping to god that Dean’s alright, but he doesn't have time for the luxury of fear. Sam straightens himself up, grips his knife just a little tighter, and knocks the door open.

The creak of the door startles the man into action, and Sam finds himself flat on his ass, staring at the end of a double-barrel before he even realizes what happened.

“Dean?”

The light flicks on, and both of them startle at Bobby’s voice in the doorway.

“The hell you think you're doing, boy?”

Sam stands up, tucking the knife into its sheath, while Dean, still in his favorite light blue onesie with the bunnies on it and a pacifier clipped to his little chest pocket, lowers his shotgun. There's something just so wrong with the picture Dean’s presenting that Sam has to do something about it.

“Dean, baby. Let me have the gun.” Sam reaches for it, but Dean steps back and clutches it protectively against his chest.

“No,” Dean says.

“Dean…”

“ _No_. You might think I'm a kid, but I'm _not_. I'm a _Hunter_. I've been hunting things that exist in most people's nightmares since I was old enough to talk, and when I say there's a monster in my goddamn closet, _there's a monster in my goddamn closet_.”

“Alright,” Sam says. “Just put down the gun, and Bobby and I will have a look.”

Dean’s glare meets him head on. “No.”

“Dean…”

“ _No_. You keep checking, and there's nothing there, but I _know_ something’s there, Papa.” Dean blanches. “Sam. I know something’s there, _Sam_.”

The room goes tense until Bobby clears his throat. “Could be somethin’. Why don't we check one more time, just to be sure?”

Dean’a shoulders slump, his protest dying as soon as he realizes it’s two against one and he’s losing. “It's only in the dark,” Dean says. “That's why it doesn't come out when Sam checks. It lives in the dark.” Dean’s eyes go glossy, and Sam has to stifle the urge to wrap him in a hug.

“Fine. Then let's keep it light until I can get some supplies goin’.”

Bobby makes his way downstairs, leaving Sam alone with Dean. Neither of them speak a word before Bobby’s back, guns in hand.

Sam takes the one Bobby offers him, as well as the iron rod from Dean’s drawer, stepping back to let Bobby take point.

“Right. Dean?” Bobby prompts. “Hit the lights.”

Dean flips the switch on the wall and holds up his shotgun, aiming it directly at the closet.

The seconds tick away, all of them on high alert, but when nothing happens for a full minute, Sam lowers his gun and turns toward Dean.

“Dean, baby. There's nothing…” The words trail off as Sam stares directly into glowing red eyes.

Dean’s the first to fire, Sam and Bobby following suit not half a second later. The eyes blaze brighter, rising not from the closet but from under the bed, as it slinks toward them despite the attack.

And then the eyes are gone as artificial light fills the room.

“Told you so,” Dean says, but the words are filled with too much fear to be smug.

“It can’t be. We’ve warded against everything we could think of.”

“Then it’s gotta be somethin’ we didn’t think of, don’t it?”

“What?” Sam scoffs. “Like the boogeyman?”

He looks at Bobby’s face.

“You can’t be serious. The boogeyman?”

“Well, not the one you’re thinkin’ of. Rufus and I got rid of that ugly mug back when you were in diapers. But I’m thinkin’ it’s similar. Maybe a different brand o’ boogey.”

“A different… There are different _brands_ of boogeymen?”

Bobby shrugs. “Not too many.” He slips his gun into the back of his pants and strokes his beard. “I’m thinkin’ it’s either a Babau or a Cucuy, if it even _is_ a boogeyman. Either way, it’s gonna be tough.”

“Tough how?” Sam asks warily.

“Well it ain’t somethin’ you can just shoot and be done with.”

The lights flicker dangerously overhead, and all three of them flinch.

“And it's lookin’ more like the only light we can trust is the daylight,” Bobby continues.

Sam nods. “Let’s get out of here.”

They make their way downstairs into the heavily-lit living room, Dean secure in Sam's arms where he belongs.

“If I’m rememberin’ correctly,” Bobby says, “you convince it that Dean ain’t a target, and it’ll just go away.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“No clue.”

Sam runs his hand through his hair and takes a calming breath. “Alright. What if we go back to your place, do some research, figure this thing out, and then come back?”

“First three steps are no problem, but we’ve gotta work fast because that last one ain’t gonna matter.”

Sam’s almost afraid to ask. “Why not?”

“It’s already got its sights on Dean. What makes you think it won't follow him wherever he goes?”

“Dammit.”

“Yep.”

“We’ll move fast then.”

Sam buckles Dean into the Impala, worrying about Dean’s sudden silence now that he knows the boy’s fear is founded. He's happy that he’d had the forethought to pack a couple of emergency duffles in the trunk just in case, but he's sure that Dean’s going to miss his stuffed bunny, which they'd left in the crib for obvious reasons. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As part of Ao3's "Listen to the Almighty Moth" campaign, all readers must now comment on the things I post. And give double kudos. And then comment again. I'll wait here. *waits patiently*


	3. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're on the Hunt.

The trek to Bobby’s is quick, no more than fifteen minutes. They'd planned it that way when Sam got the house. And before Dean can protest, Sam gathers him in his arms and carries him inside, not wanting to let him go for anything.

Unfortunately, that doesn't help when they're smack dab in the middle of a Hunt and he needs both hands to comb through books in Bobby’s kitchen. So he sets Dean down on the couch with a blanket and a toy car to occupy him and ignores the steady glare Dean is sending his way for not letting him help.

It's not that Sam doesn't want to, though. It's that he _can't_. Dean’s already been Big enough for one day. Hell, he's been Big enough for a month, and Sam is more than willing to cut Dean off before he pushes himself too far and winds up back where he was when this all started. So, no. Dean _can't_ help, no matter how much he asks. And yes, Dean _will_ stay put on the couch with his toy while Sam and Bobby take care of whatever creature was stupid enough to mess with them.

“Got it,” Sam says, half a dozen books later. “ _El Cucuy_. Mexican-American monster that kidnaps children.”

“Sure it's not a Babau or a Sack Man?”

“Positive. Says here glowing red eyes. The Babau’s face is hidden, and the Sack Man wears a sack. It's gotta be the Cucuy.”

“ _Papa?_ ”

“ _Just a second, Dean, baby_ ,” Sam replies, eyes still focused on the book.  

“Does it say anything ‘bout how to nab it?”

“Nothing solid. There's a nursery rhyme in here, but it doesn't help much.”

“ _Papa?_ ”

“ _One more minute,_ ” Sam calls. “It says that when night falls, _El Cucuy_ hides in the closet or under the bed, taking the shape of the dark shadows that live there. With glowing red eyes, he watches the children, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Apparently, the summoning is retelling part of the nursery rhyme: ‘ _Duérmete niño, duérmete ya. Que viene El Cucuy te comerá.’_ It’s told as part of a folk tale to misbehaved children.”

“You tellin’ me you told Dean a story like that?”

Sam scoffs. “Of course not.”

Who in their right minds would ever tell their child a story like that?

“It could be like a crossroads demon,” Sam suggests. “Someone summoned it, and it just stuck around for more.”

“There been any missing kids ‘round your area?”

“Not that I know of.” Sam shrugs. “Doesn't mean there haven't been any though.”

“Think you would've known if there had. Could be it was just dormant. Seen a lot of that recently.”

Sam grimaces. “It still doesn't tell us how to get rid of it.”

The light flickers a bit before steadying out again, and both men freeze.

“Dean seem too quiet to you?” Bobby asks.

“ _Dean, baby_?” Sam calls.

No response.

“Shit.”

Sam and Bobby burst into an empty living room, Dean nowhere in sight.

They don't have to wonder where he is for long. A blood-curdling scream echoes through the house from upstairs. Sam is halfway to the second floor by the time the scream ends, reaching the door to the guest room in record time. He turns the knob, but the door doesn't give.

“Dean?” he calls.

“ _Papa_?”

“Dean, baby, open the door.”

“Sam?” Bobby reaches him just as Dean begins to cry.

“I need the key. Dean’s locked inside and he can't open the door.”

“There ain’t no key,” Bobby tells him.

“What? Why not?”

“It doesn't need one. That door don't lock.”

It's then that Sam actually looks at the knob he's holding. The outside is smooth, no lock to speak of. Goddammit.

“Back away from the door, Dean. I'm gonna kick it down, okay?”

No response.

The lights flicker again.

Sam takes a step back and kicks right next to the knob where the door is the weakest. It doesn't give even a little and Sam curses.

“Did it say anything else?”

“What?”

“The folk tale,” Bobby explains. “There's gotta be somethin’.”

Sam shakes his head. “It was all over the place. Some say it's a shadow. Others say it's a humanoid with sharp claws and fangs. Some even go headless horseman on it and claim that it has the head of a pumpkin. No one can even agree on what it looks like except for the eyes, let alone how to kill it.”

“Head of a pumpkin?”

“ _Papa_!”

Dean’s scream has Sam kicking the door again, trying his hardest to break through even though they're both sure the Cucuy is sealing it somehow.

“Sam.”

Sam kicks harder.

“ _Sam_.” Bobby’s hand comes down on his shoulder. “It ain't gonna kill him. Not yet. We just gotta calm down and figure out a plan. What's this about a pumpkin?”

“It's… uh… Some of the tales say that it has the head of a pumpkin.”

“Which ones?”

Sam rubs his head. “I don't know,” he says. “Not enough of them.”

“Well,” Bobby says, rubbing his forehead, trying to think of something useful. “Pumpkins are used for protection.”

“Yeah…”

“Maybe we can trap it,” he offers

Sam scoffs. “And where the hell are we supposed to get a pumpkin?”

Before Bobby can respond, the knob turns and the door to the guest room creaks open. It’s ominous, that’s for sure, but Sam has more important things to worry about than walking into a trap.  

“Dean?” Sam calls gently, pushing the door open just a little bit further.

The room looks empty when he steps inside, the bed and a stationary dresser the only things in the room aside from himself and Bobby. The closet door is wide open, not even an old moth-eaten sweater inside. Most importantly, Dean is nowhere in sight.

“Papa?”

He and Bobby both look under the bed toward the voice.

“Hide,” Dean whispers.

And then the lights cut off, casting them into darkness.

Sam drops to the floor and reaches under the bed for Dean, trying not to let his imagination get the best of him when his hand brushes a cloth-covered arm in the dark. He grips tight and pulls Dean out from under the bed, ignoring his boy’s terrified scream.

“Papa!”

Dean’s just cleared from the bed when Sam sees them.

Two pairs of eyes appear in the doorway, glowing ominously against the shadows in the moonlight. Sam feels Dean shiver against him and he tightens his hold.

“Sam.”

Sam looks away from the creature just in time to catch the flashlight Bobby throws at him. Both of them flip the switches and aim their beams of light at the creature, watching the eyes dissolve into the shadows.

“Go.”

Sam heeds Bobby’s order and runs down the stairs, careful to shift the light around so that they’re not attacked from the side. “Where do I go?” he asks.

“Basement,” Bobby grunts, passing him.

He doesn’t have time to question it.

Sam follows Bobby the basement, hesitating only slightly before crossing the threshold to a room he’s not sure he wants to know about, but he asks anyway.

“Bobby, what is this?”

“Solid iron,” he says. “Completely coated in salt. 100% ghost-proof.”

“You built a panic room?”

“I had a weekend off.”

If Sam weren’t so terrified, he would be impressed.

As it is, he hears a quiet “You're awesome, Uncle Bobby” from Dean, though it’s muffled with Dean’s face buried in his shoulder.

“Think it’ll keep out the Cucuy?” Sam asks.

“Hope so.” Bobby flips a switch on the wall and the room lights up. It’s a nice change.

“And if it doesn’t work?” Sam would have been more than happy to take a stand if it weren’t for one thing: Dean. For Dean, he doesn’t kill monsters. He runs and hides from them. He needs Dean safe, and he’s no good to the boy dead. More than that, if the room doesn’t keep the thing out, they’ll all die. He can’t have that.

“We go to Plan B,” Bobby says.

“Which is?”

Bobby shoots him a grin, and Sam wonders if all Hunters are this crazy or if Bobby is a special case. “Pumpkins,” Bobby says.

Bobby makes his way to the cot on the side of the room and pulls a box out from under it. Sam reads the crude scrawl on the side and barks out a laugh. “‘Halloween Decorations’?”

“The panic room took up space. I needed somewhere to put ‘em.” Bobby shakes his head. “Ijit.”

The door to the panic room bangs open, and Bobby curses. Sam holds Dean as tight as he can, but Dean has other ideas. Instead of clinging to his brother like he’s been doing, Dean detaches his legs from Sam’s waist and lets go of his neck. Sam tries to pull him behind his back, but Dean doesn’t let him, adamantly standing guard in front of his little brother.

“Sam,” Dean says firmly. “Stop.”

But he doesn’t. Gone are the days when he relies on his big brother to protect him. Dean’s not Big, even as much as he wants to be, and Sam isn’t capable of looking at him anymore without seeing his Little boy.

“Dean Michael Winchester.” Sam’s voice has Dean’s brow creasing. “You get behind me right now or so help me God I will put you in time out.”

“Sammy…”

“ _Now_.”

Dean pouts but does as he’s told, moving into place just as the lights flicker out.

Red eyes appear in front of them, the only things visible in the stark darkness of the basement. Sam clicks the button on the flashlight to no avail. Either the batteries have crapped out or else the Cucuy is jamming it somehow. Either way, they’re screwed.

Sam reaches behind him and holds Dean in place. If the Cucuy is going after Dean, he’s going to have to go through Sam to get him.

But then something happens.

Just a flick of the eyes.

The Cucuy looks left toward the cot and stills its advance.

Sam can’t see what Bobby’s doing—it's too dark for that—but whatever it is has the Cucuy retreating. It stops in the doorway, trapped, eyes wide in panic. Sam’s seen that look on Dean’s face enough to recognize it. And then it screams, eyes fading to black.

It takes a few seconds, but the lights come on all at once, and it isn’t long before Sam has an armful of Dean, who’s shaking with residual adrenaline.

“Bobby?”

“Got ‘im.”

Bobby grins at him, clutching the stem of a plastic jack-o-lantern with glowing red eyes. It makes Sam want to shudder, but he holds himself back and focuses instead on comforting Dean.

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothes. “Uncle Bobby got him. You’re safe.”

They make their way back upstairs, leaving the trapped Cucuy in the panic room until Bobby can figure out how to properly dispose of it. Worst case, they can seal it in salt-encrusted concrete and bury it somewhere. Sam’s not too worried about it now that it’s no longer going after Dean.

The boy in question, though, is gearing up for a crash. Sam can tell.

Dean’s head rests on Sam’s shoulder, limbs limp in his hold. If it weren’t for the thumb lodged securely in Dean’s mouth, Sam would think he’s asleep. But Dean’s suckling away, and Sam’s not ready to put him down quite yet, so he stands there in Bobby’s living room and holds Dean close.

“Dean?”

Dean looks up at Bobby through half-lidded eyes.

“You okay?”

He pries the thumb from his mouth long enough to answer. “I’m okay, Uncle Bobby.” He wraps his arms around Sam’s neck. “Think Papa’s still freaking out though.”

Bobby chuckles. “Yeah. You’re gonna be juuuust fine, kiddo.”

Dean laughs.

Sam glares at Bobby.

“You ‘bout ready to head back home, or are you gonna crash here tonight?”

Sam shrugs. “What do you think, Dean?”

Dean yawns and nestles in closer to Sam. “Home,” he decides.

“Home it is,” he tells Dean. “Thank you, Bobby. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

Bobby waves away the thanks. “Everything turned out for the best in the end.”

Dean falls asleep on the way back to their house, which comes as no surprise to Sam. What does surprise him, though, is how unwilling he is to lay him down in his crib when they get there. The room is warmer now, just as it should be, and it’s brighter somehow too. He knows the Cucuy is gone, that Dean is safe, that there’s nothing to fear, but it doesn’t help much when sunrise is still hours away.

He grabs Dean’s stuffed bunny and takes him to his room instead, just for the night. He settles Dean on one side, makes sure he’s tucked in and happily sucking away on a pacifier before he slides in on the opposite side, crashing just after his head hits the pillow.

Sam’s surprised when he wakes with the sun. He’d thought for sure that Dean’s nightmares would continue on, even with the creature gone, but he’s perfectly happy to be wrong. Dean rests next to him, clutching his bunny in one hand, drooling onto his pillow.

It’s gross.

Really gross.

He’s going to have to wash his bedding today.

But Dean’s definitely worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sing a song of happiness, a pocket full of kudos.  
> Four and twenty comments sittin' in my inbox. 
> 
> *hums* *dreams about wonderful comments* 
> 
> The next work in the series has been written. It's just a small slip of a timestamp to give me some more time to work on an actual fic. I'll post it in the next couple of days. If you're interested, don't forget to subscribe to the _Post-Hell Regression_ series.


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